Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

The first Day’s Journey, and the first Evening’s Adventures; with their Consequences

           ‘Snodgrass,’saidMr.Winkle,whentheyhadturnedoutofthepublicstreet.‘Snodgrass,mydearfellow,canIrelyuponyoursecrecy?’Ashesaidthis,hemostdevoutlyandearnestlyhopedhecouldnot.

           ‘Youcan,’repliedMr.Snodgrass.‘Hearmeswear—’

           ‘No,no,’interruptedWinkle,terrifiedattheideaofhiscompanion’sunconsciouslypledginghimselfnottogiveinformation;‘don’tswear,don’tswear;it’squiteunnecessary.’

           Mr.Snodgrassdroppedthehandwhichhehad,inthespiritofpoesy,raisedtowardsthecloudsashemadetheaboveappeal,andassumedanattitudeofattention.

           ‘Iwantyourassistance,mydearfellow,inanaffairofhonour,’saidMr.Winkle.

           ‘Youshallhaveit,’repliedMr.Snodgrass,claspinghisfriend’shand.

           ‘WithadoctorDoctorSlammer,ofthe97th,’saidMr.Winkle,wishingtomakethematterappearassolemnaspossible;‘anaffairwithanofficer,secondedbyanotherofficer,atsunsetthisevening,inalonelyfieldbeyondFortPitt.’

           ‘Iwillattendyou,’saidMr.Snodgrass.

           Hewasastonished,butbynomeansdismayed.Itisextraordinaryhowcoolanypartybuttheprincipalcanbeinsuchcases.Mr.Winklehadforgottenthis.Hehadjudgedofhisfriend’sfeelingsbyhisown.

           ‘Theconsequencesmaybedreadful,’saidMr.Winkle.

           ‘Ihopenot,’saidMr.Snodgrass.

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